Invitation
by hikachu
Summary: I waited years before coming back here because I guessed that by then you and the other bigwigs would have had enough of patting yourselves on the back for – wow – acting like decent people. But no. Post reunion.


Shion's eyes raise from his fingers – currently attempting to make a proper Windsor knot – to look at Nezumi's face—the book hiding Nezumi's face, in the mirror.

"So. You _really_ aren't coming? To the party?" he does his best to make the question sound casual.

Nezumi's unimpressed face emerges from the pages of _L'Oeuvre au Noir_ to deliver its judgment. The raised eyebrows say that Shion failed.

"Help me remember. How many times has your Majesty already asked that very question to this humble subject?"

It's a rhetorical question. Nezumi has been keeping count, of course, and they both know it. He needs his data to make efficiently sarcastic remarks.

"People… change," Shion says carefully, hoping that this is the right answer; the magic words that will allow him to circumvent Nezumi's jibes.

"Not in such a short time."

"I wanted to make sure?"

Nezumi stands up with a condescending sigh. He walks up to him and bends down enough to rest his chin on Shion's shoulder. Their cheeks touch.

"Shion, Shion, _Shion_. I waited years before coming back here because I guessed that by then you and the other bigwigs would have had enough of patting yourselves on the back for – wow – acting like decent people. But no. Should I go again and wait a decade this time?"

It's less than a fake threat. Not even a hypothetical scenario. Shion knows that.

He finds himself grasping Nezumi's arm all the same.

"Why do your friends even want me there, anyway? Do they want to see the last survivor of the Mao tribe with their own eyes? To congratulate you for saving such a rare specimen from extinction?"

Nezumi's fingers untuck Shion's shirt, slide beneath it and stroke the skin below his ribs. His voice is perfectly calm, low; to anyone who doesn't know him well enough, he would sound genuinely curious instead of bitter.

"Do they expect my gratefulness for replenishing my _dead_ people's forest after _their_ government burned it to the ground?" he asks with his mouth brushing against the side of Shion's neck. "Or are they hoping I'll sing for them? No, not happening. Unless they have the money to afford it. I charge twice as much for condescending bureaucrats, by the way."

Nezumi traces lines on Shion's abdomen with the blunt tips of his nails, and Shion is aware that, in spite of it, he should be paying attention, but he can't remember what each word means anymore. He can't remember how to do anything that isn't shuddering. Twisting and turning until he can nuzzle his nose against Nezumi's beautiful, beautiful throat.

Nezumi freezes.

"Oh my god. Are you horny?"

"I'm not—"

"You're horny."

"You're the one who—"

"And in broad daylight too. How scandalous."

"It's _evening_!"

"Still too early for decent people. _Oh my god_. It's disgusting," Nezumi says in that teasing tone that makes Shion feel stupid and shiver at the same time.

He can't help blushing, letting himself be talked down and bullied for his neediness because Nezumi is not entirely wrong. Maybe he does feel like he deserves it a bit, all things considered—even though Nezumi is the one who sulks and makes Shion's life a living hell with passive-aggressive jibes and dirty clothes and books and wigs scattered all around the house whenever he decides that he has been neglected in favor of bureaucratic forms and blue prints for too long.

"Absolutely," Nezumi kisses him. "Disgusting." Another kiss. "But, out of the goodness of my heart, and in the name of our shared past, and current... attachment, I shall help you with your—little problem."

His hand cups Shion's crotch, utterly shameless, and at that point there isn't much Shion can do besides letting out an undignified yelp and tackling Nezumi to the floor.

In response, Nezumi, being himself, complains about bruises and an actor's body being his life.

"So, I take it you're giving up the gourmet dinner with those terrible, terrible people to spend quality time with your housemate?" he asks. Batting his eyelashes.

It takes a few moments for the truth to finally sink in for Shion. And the truth is that he's been had.

Shion stares down at Nezumi's grin, debating the possibility of punching him in the face or kneeing him in the gut, depending on which one would hurt the most.

"Out of the goodness of my heart," he sighs instead.

Nezumi kisses him again, deep and long.

This is a lot better than the passive-aggressive remarks and the dirty clothes, after all.


End file.
